Tekiya
by Drindalis
Summary: Jason hates charity, especially unwanted charity. So when Talia Al Ghul hires a meta to erase his memories of ever meeting the Batfamily, he's not very pleased. When said meta informs him he doesn't have a choice in the matter, he's even less pleased. And when he wakes up with no idea where he is, how he got there, or why his head aches, he's about as UN-pleased as you can get.
1. And So It Begins

DJG: *cowers* Please don't kill me! I know I should be working on WCG, but this plot bunny snuck up on me in the dark and started beating me with a carrot. So I reeeally needed to write this to get it out of my system! I'll get to WCG as soon as I finish transferring the next chapter from notebook-form to word document.

Muse: Excuses, excuses.

DJG: HEY, I've got some good ones. OH! Also, this story has nothing to do with the WIL trilogy.

* * *

The night was dark, with no light breaking through the heavy haze of clouds coating the sky. There was silence, broken occasionally by the sounds of a city conducting its usual shady back-alley business. However, no one bothered investigating the sounds, because this was Gotham. If the noises had been absent, one would have thought something was wrong.

The man stepped out of the darkness inside the abandoned apartment building, dark hair tied up at the base of his neck and hidden underneath the trench coat that hid the rest of him. There was no real way to tell if he was fat or skinny, tall or short. His form almost flowed in and out of vision.

Perhaps his most noticeable feature was the dark green silk that was tied around his eyes, hiding them from view. He stood there quietly, waiting for his client to arrive.

Finally, a few minutes later, she did.

"…I understand you have a remarkable ability that you are willing to rent out to anyone who can pay." she spoke, brown eyes watching the figure calculatingly while her bodyguards stood in a loose circle around her.

"Not to just anyone. I do have some shame left." the man responded in a strangely alluring voice. The woman frowned.

"Yes, yes. You also know I am a busy woman. I do not have time to waste. Will you agree to…how do you prefer to put it…'adjust', the person in question for me in exchange for six million American dollars?" As she spoke, her eyes narrowed threateningly, her voice gaining a bit of a cold edge as she gestured to two large suitcases. One of her bodyguards knelt and opened them, showing off several bundles of one-hundred dollar bills.

The man remained quiet for a moment, before stepping backwards into the shadows again. "Agreed. Please, who is my target, and what do you want them to believe?"

A manila folder was tossed in his direction, landing on the ground where he had been standing and letting a few pages spill out, revealing two photos. One was of a young teenaged boy with dark hair, staring into the camera with dull, unseeing eyes. The other was of a masked man wearing a leather bodysuit, jacket, and boots, with a blazingly crimson helmet. Clutched in his hands were two handguns, and he appeared to be in the process of leaping between buildings.

The man's head looked up. Talia Al Ghul spoke again.

"Everything you need is in the file. I will be leaving now." she murmured, before she and her bodyguards seemingly melted into the shadows and vanished, leaving behind the folder and two suitcases. Only then did the man step forward and scoop the file from the ground, flipping through it idly.

"…You have a very interesting story, Mister Todd. It is quite a shame you won't remember any of it." the man remarked flippantly.

* * *

The Red Hood grimaced, his eyes narrowed as he watched a man clad in a red ski mask hold up two too-young prostitutes, armed with a knife.

"I'm the Red Hood, and I own these streets! Since you decided to work 'em without my permission, I get to work you, too!" the man gloated, waving his knife around like a madman. The real Red Hood shook his head, before calmly shooting the man in the shoulder from his position on a nearby roof. He smirked as the impostor fell forward and screamed, before jumping down and dragging him up by the collar of his jacket and slamming him into a wall.

"Look, _pal." _Red Hood began, with 'pal' coming out as someone might say an expletive. "I don't like it when scumbags like you go around playin' dress-up, understand? Now take off the damn ski mask and get the hell out of here. I ever see you here again, I'm gonna _give_ you a reason to cover your face in public, you get me?" he snarled murderously.

The man whimpered. "Y-yes…s…s-s-sir!" he gasped out, before the Red Hood released him. He immediately sprinted from the alleyway, slowing down only to tear the ski mask from his face and toss it into the street.

Jason walked out of the alleyway, pausing as the women he had saved made googly-eyes at him, murmuring thanks and other not-so-appropriate things. He blinked, surprised, before nodding in their direction. "Er…ladies." he remarked, before leaping up and snagging windowsill and climbing to the roof.

It was roughly four am, and it was time to call it a night. It wasn't as busy on his edge of town anyways. The Bat and his Birds got most of the dirty work. Jason, feeling most of that was beneath him, just stuck with protecting the ones who paid up to him. Hey, if he was going to get a cut of drug money, he might as well work for it.

He paused outside the abandoned building he stayed in, eyes narrowing. The window had been forced open, he could tell by the angle the already-broken glass panes were sitting.

Pulling out one of his guns and carefully propping his helmet against the support beam in case he needed a quick exit, he silently advanced up the steps until he was outside the door that led to his apartment. He didn't kick the door open, as he didn't feel like breaking his foot. The rest of the apartment might be shit, but he had the door reinforced with steel and several locks. It was supposed to keep people out, mainly the Bat. Then again, he didn't seem capable of using a door anyway, so the whole thing was kind of pointless.

Jason slid the key into his free hand, turning the lock as quietly as possible.

He was concentrating so hard on not alerting the person inside that he didn't even hear someone come up behind him.

"So you do live here." an unknown voice stated. Jason jumped, startled, instinctively slashing out with the key and managing to catch the man behind him in the cheek. Blood dripped off the key, while the man just stood there and made no move to attack despite his injury. The confused vigilante blinked and waited for the man to talk. When it appeared he wasn't going to, Jason spoke up.

"Er…yeah. Do I know you?"

The man shook his head. "No, no. Still, I feel it is best I introduce myself." the man made a small bow. Jason quickly took stock of the figure in front of him as he did so. Long brown hair, dark skin, Asian maybe? His eyes were hidden behind a green strip of cloth. "I am Tekiya."

"…the Japanese word for 'faker'?" Jason asked, unsure of what to make of this. If the man's name was any indication, he should probably just shoot him now and save himself the trouble of doing it later.

"Hai, yes. You are Jason Todd. Miss Al Ghul sent me here to offer you a choice…no, a gift." Tekiya said quietly.

Jason arched an eyebrow behind the helmet. "Talia sent you? What's this about? I thought she was more worried about her bratty kid now."

Tekiya smiled softly. "Miss Al Ghul has asked me to speak with you about removing your memories of being a partner to the Batman. All of it. Your death, your revival, your time as both the Red Hood and as Robin. You can start over fresh, as you say, a 'clean slate'."

Jason's eyes widened. A clean slate? Getting rid of it all? That sounded much nicer than he wanted to admit. Not having to think of Bruce's betrayal, not having to remember the Joker, not having the nightmares…all of it, gone. He wouldn't have to live as a criminal anymore. But…

It still wouldn't take the blood off his hands. It wouldn't change he fact that he'd killed people. It wouldn't bring back his parents, and he wasn't sure erasing everything back to when he was just a street brat was a good idea. Without his training, he'd only last a few weeks before he got picked off, either by mouthing off to someone with a gun like he had once when he was a lot younger, or by starving to death. It didn't matter. Besides, he didn't deserve to start over. He had brought all this on himself, so he would see it through.

Jason Peter Todd was not a quitter.

And really, what were the odds that some crazy man who appeared on his doorstep could really make all that happen, anyways? Just because he knew Talia didn't mean…

"What are you thinking of, young one?" Tekiya asked politely.

"How freaking crazy you sound right now. Seriously, are you listening to yourself? I don't know how you know all this, but I'm not buying it. Run back to Talia and tell her I'm not interested." Jason responded, pocketing his keys and pushing the door to his apartment open and making to leave.

The man's voice turned steely. "I am sorry you feel that way, Mister Todd. Unfortunately for you, Miss Al Ghul wished for me to inform you that you have no choice in the matter."

Jason's head flew up in surprise, turning to look back at the man, only to find he was gone. Great. The crazy meta who could possibly erase memories was no longer visible. He slammed the door shut and locked it, before quickly rushing into his kitchen. He reached into the drawer and grabbed a pen and the closest piece of paper-an envelope for the electric bill. He began to write quickly.

'_If you can't remember anything, call this #. 273-347-1939'_**(1) **he scrawled, before quickly scribbling something else underneath. He made a small noise of approval. The extra bit at the end was a little sentimental, but seeing as he could possibly be about to forget everything, he figured it was justified.

"Mister Todd!" Tekiya's voice seemed louder and…compelling. Jason found himself turning in surprise.

"How the hell did you get in…here…?" the teenager began to demand, before trailing off. His eyes locked with Tekiya's, the man having removed the blindfold to reveal abnormally bright orange eyes that were lacking pupils. Without warning, Jason found himself feeling tired and dizzy. He swayed unsteadily as he stared ahead, blinking slowly.

"Can you hear me?" Tekiya asked.

"…yeah." Jason mumbled. His tongue felt heavy, like he had been drugged. Why couldn't he look away? He would have gotten frustrated, but he was just too tired to feel anything besides...numb.

"Good. Now, you are going to fall asleep. When you wake up, you will not remember anything past your thirteenth birthday. You will believe that your parents died in an automobile accident years ago, and you have lived alone ever since."

The teen nodded weakly, the words making sense. _'Yeah…I'm an orphan, and I live in…um…Crime Alley. Dad…he worked for Two-Face…b-before the accident. Now I remember…'_ Jason blinked again, but this time, his eyes didn't open. Instead, his legs buckled and he collapsed against the countertop, smacking his head as he hit the floor in a heap.

Tekiya gave a sad smile as he retied the blindfold around his own eyes. "Wakare to kōun, Mister Todd."**(2)**

* * *

The light of the morning sun was shining through the blinds and onto the sleeping teenager's face. He grumbled, burying his face in the pillow while he practically hissed at the dawn for daring to wake him.

"Mrrrg…what flippin' idiot left the flippin' blinds open?" he asked no one, reluctantly sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He immediately realized this was a bad idea as his head throbbed in protest. His fingers flew to his aching cranium and held it.

"Okay, ow. Seriously, what did I drink last night?" he wondered. Again, no answer. Then again, what did he expect? He lived alone. Always had, always would. Ever since his parents had died in that car accident, he had been forced to fend for himself. It wasn't all bad, though. He was used to it.

He crawled out of bed, still yawning. He made a face as he inspected the room more carefully. This wasn't his room…it was bigger, and his posters of various bands were missing. So was the usual pile of tires in the corner.

Jason seethed. "Some creep stole my tires! I boosted those fair and square! Grr, why didn't I wake up?" He sighed, before continuing on. This wasn't the first time someone bigger than him stole his stuff. It probably wouldn't be the last, either.

He continued to inspect the room, finding nothing of personal interest. Just a bed and a nightstand. He tugged the drawer open, only to find it empty. He frowned, before throwing open the closet. The only things inside were a few pairs of old denim jeans, some too-new looking T-shirts, and a brown leather jacket. Jason thought they all looked too large to fit a kid, but to his surprise they fit him perfectly.

"Hmph. Weird." he proclaimed, before leaving the bedroom. His eyes widened as he spotted blood on the floor of the kitchen, staining the white tile. Upon closer inspection, he could see a similar spot of blood on the edge of the counter, smeared a bit. Jason pulled a washrag out from underneath the sink and began wiping up the blood. First thing Dad taught him: no matter what, get rid of the evidence.

He ran the rag under hot water to try and get the blood out. He paused, hand still under the running water as a cool breeze ruffled his hair. He blew said hair out of his face impatiently, wondering why it seemed longer today. Then he realized how bad having a breeze in your apartment was when you lived in Crime Alley. He followed it with his eyes to the far window, finding it open. Without warning, a stronger breeze lifted an envelope sitting on the counter up just enough to drop it into the sink. Jason cursed, quickly turning off the water and reaching for it. That envelope might be able to tell him whose house he was at, because it obviously wasn't his.

There had been writing on it, but it had smeared from the water to a point where it was almost illegible. "F…you ca…remember…ything, ca… this #. 22...something...dang it, the numbers all look like a bunch of twos!" he grumbled, carefully wiping off the excess water. "Then again, this is Gotham. I could see some fruit loop actually wanting a phone number like that."

He stared at the ruined message, before his eyes were drawn to a small blotch at the bottom. He squinted and had to turn the envelope to the side before he saw what it was. A small outline of a bat with a circle around it. The Bat Symbol.

"Okay, this is bad. This is so very bad!" Jason dropped the envelope like he had been burned, staring distrustfully at the image on the paper. "No way I'm hanging around here if whoever lives here is friends with the Bat!" he muttered, quickly grabbing the leather jacket and pulling on some boots that were by the door.

Fine. He didn't know how he got to that apartment, but he'd find a way back to his place. And he'd do it on his own, too.

* * *

"School field trips are a waste of time." Damian Wayne grumbled, staring into space with an expression of total disdain.

"Lighten up, Demon Child. They're better than sitting in class all day. It's either a picnic by the river or two chapters of homework." Tim Drake remarked, eyeing the disgustingly filthy water suspiciously. "Although I don't think this even counts as a river…"

"What do they even expect us to _do _all afternoon?" Damian asked rhetorically. He couldn't comprehend why several teaching professionals would decide taking a bunch of children to a wide open, relatively empty area with nothing but an unsanitary river was a good idea.

"I dunno. Wanna go chuck rocks at the water?" Tim asked. Normally he wouldn't have even considered consorting with either Damian or the river, but it was miserably hot and he was practically an outsider in his class because of how far ahead he was.

Damian sighed dramatically. "If we must." He reluctantly got up, picking his sweaty clothes off of his arms and groaning in disgust. The two brothers approached the dirty river slowly, before Tim knelt down and scooped up a handful of stones.

"What, again, is the purpose of throwing rocks into bodies of water? There's no point." Damian asked, accepting the few Tim had handed to him almost suspiciously.

"I dunno. It's just…fun, I guess? I don't know, quit over-analyzing everything." Tim responded, lazily tossing one in. It didn't even splash, it just hit the surface and stuck, making a sick squelching noise. "Ew…"

Damian make an unimpressed expression, before dropping the rocks into the dirt. "It's too muddy, Drake. That rock won't even be halfway down by tomorrow."

Tim ignored him. His eyes were trained on something else that seemed to be caught under the bridge nearby. He carefully stepped under said bridge, careful not to step in mud or smack his head on the stone above him. Tim knelt down, seeing the odd shape that had caught his eye. It was a leather jacket, soaked in mud and practically unrecognizable. He picked up a nearby stick and poked the jacket until he could pull it up. "Hey, Demon Child? Want a new coat?" he joked, waving it at the younger boy.

Damian made a face. "Drake, you are disgusting! Put that filth back where you found it!" he demanded. Tim turned to put it back and froze. When he had pulled up the jacket, he had removed the mud enough to see what was underneath it.

A very familiar red helmet, recognizable even when smeared with mud.

"Damian…? Call Bruce. He's gonna want to check this out." Tim said seriously, no longer worried about getting muddy as he dug deeper with his hands. He began to unearth leather bodysuits, firearms clogged with slime and clay, and one boot he remembered being a part of the Red Hood outfit.

"So, someone finally got the best of Todd?" Damian asked, his cell phone already out.

Tim frowned. "I don't think so. If Jason had gone down, whoever did it would want the power you'd get from taking down the Red Hood. We would've heard about it before now. Maybe he's adopting a new identity...or planning something else? Why else would he dump all his crap in the river?"

Neither of them had an answer to that, at least not one that made sense.

* * *

Talia Al Ghul pulled her cell phone from her pocket and put it to her ear. "I trust your mission was a success?"

"_Indeed, Miss Al Ghul. The boy remembers nothing, and I have removed all evidence of him being the Red Hood from the apartment as you requested."_

Talia sighed. "Good. Where is he now?"

_"He just left his apartment. Shall I follow him?"_

She paused before replying. "No, that won't be necessary. I have surveillance teams in Gotham that can handle it. I think the best course of action for you right now is to disappear from the city. Perhaps Bludhaven would be more hospitable?"

"_Yes, Miss Al Ghul, I'm sure it would be. Nevertheless, I believe I shall return to my home country."_

"Fine, fine. Good day, Tekiya."

"_Same to you, Miss Al Ghul."_

As soon as she hung up, she dialed the number for said surveillance team.

"I need you to find Jason Todd and follow him. Don't lose sight of him, but make sure to keep him away from the following people: Bruce Wayne, Richard Grayson, Timothy Drake-Wayne, Damian Wayne, Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin. They will not see him, hear from him, or speak to him, understand? If Jason sees you, tell him you work for his father's sister. Tell him you are private investigators hired to find him. He will believe you. Remember, he only has memories up to his thirteenth birthday, so he will be easy to fool. Don't offer to take him to see me, wait for him to ask. I do not want this to be a kidnapping, merely…a familial visit. Once he's here, I'll make up some story to keep him satisfied until I can show him to Bruce. Can you do this for me?"

"_Yes, ma'am. Tracking the target now." _

* * *

**(1) **Batman's first appearance was in Detective Comics #27, Batman's origin is first shown in Detective Comics #33, and is later fleshed out in Batman #47. Also, Batman's first appearance is in 1939. Thus, the meaning behind the phone number.

**(2) **"Goodbye and good luck, Mister Todd." Tikiya is from Japan instead of Spain like I originally planned. I know that's cliché or whatever, but my Spanish to English dictionary is so outdated that I went with Japanese because my Japanese to English dictionary is, like, 40 years more recent. I don't trust Google Translate. :P

DJG: Well, here's hoping no one kills me for not focusing on WCG. I'm sorry, I just couldn't get this idea out of my head! Also, Tekiya is my first (if not somewhat pitiful) attempt at an OC. I try to avoid them for the most part because they're scary. Very few people can write good OCs and I'm probably not one of them, so if it turns out he does suck and I get flames about how badly he sucks, I'll remove him from the story. And on a more cheerful note, please read and review!

Muse: Reviews are the kittens to my Damian!


	2. Shorts Riding Up?

DJG: Hey, guys! Welcome back to Tekiya! This chapter is mainly focusing on Jason trying to figure out what exactly is going on. If his logic or reasoning seems ridiculous or outlandish, keep in mind he's been mentally returned to age thirteen. Most thirteen year olds have pretty wild imaginations. Hope you enjoy!

Muse: DJG doesn't own anything except the plot and the character Tekiya. So all you lawyers out there can quit stalking her now!

* * *

Jason walked the streets of Gotham somewhat dubiously. He was getting more and more frustrated the further he got. He was almost positive that this was Crime Alley, but at the same time…

Everything looked different. The walls were crumbling more and looked older. The streets seemed nearly deserted, whereas yesterday Jason had been out with a few friends of his. He bit his lip and walked on.

'_I can't be in Crime Alley, can I? I must've accidentally inhaled fumes from that guy in the box outside my house who cooks crack. Yeah, that's it, I got all doped up and ended up…at Batman's house. Or something. Maybe his girlfriend's place. Or maybe Robin lives there. Hell if I know.' _he thought, reaching into his pockets. To his surprise, he found a crumpled piece of paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it carefully, tilting it a bit so it was easier to read.

It was a receipt for ammunition for an AR-15.

His eyes widened. "Whoa…" His dad had told him AR-15s were great guns that were used by every branch of the military.

"_-except the Coast Guard."_

Jason blinked. Who had told him that again? It had been a man, but…not his father. He shrugged it off, deeming it unimportant. Still, he knew the Bat didn't use guns. Everyone in Crime Alley knew that. So why did either Batman or Robin own a leather jacket with a receipt for AR-15 ammo in it?

He quickly took off the jacket and tossed it into the gutter, watching it catch on the drain for a moment before disappearing from view. If that was Batman or Robin's jacket, it could have trackers or who knew what else in it. The last thing Jason needed was to be caught stealing from Batman.

Which brought him back to square one. He was still wandering with no idea of where to go. Yesterday he knew how to find his house like a map was imbedded on the back of his hand, but today it was like someone had poured wax in his head. The way there seemed blurry and hard to remember. Another troubling thing he noticed what that whenever he thought 'home', he didn't think of the house he and his parents had lived in before the car accident. He thought of a big, large, mansion-like estate, but the image was unclear…grainy.

"C'mon, Todd, focus…" he muttered, walking faster until buildings began to look familiar again. Yes, he was close to his parent's house, he could tell. The only thing different was how landmarks were getting more and more run down the closer he got.

"Geez, what happened? Looks like half of the slums are gone…" he remarked, before turning the lane that would lead down to his house.

He froze.

The plot of land where his house used to reside was dark and depressing, the roof of the home falling in on itself. The paint was peeling and the door was falling off its hinges. The grass was too tall, and the windows all appeared to have been shattered. He slowly walked up the crumbling stone steps until he reached the broken door, gently pushing it to the side and entering what was once his house.

The inside was even worse. The walls had several holes in them, as if someone had punched them in fury. The light shined in through the numerous holes in the ceiling, especially in what was once the kitchen, where the entire ceiling was caved in to just barely touch the top of the fridge. The fridge itself had a strange odor coming from it, so Jason left it alone. The last thing he needed was to mess with some old, moldy food.

He left the kitchen and entered the bedroom where his parents used to sleep. The room was empty, the floor collapsing inward where the dresser used to be. Without warning, he heard a few screeching noises from the cracked closet door and hesitantly opened it. To his horror, several large black bats flew out of the closet and circled him for a few pulse-pounding seconds, before darting to the window and vanishing. Jason breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were gone, shutting the closet door firmly.

Only then did he dare to enter his own bedroom.

His precious posters he had hung with such care were in tatters, bleeding dark ink from being exposed to the elements coming in through the broken window. Someone had also sprayed various names and curse words on the opposite wall in colorful paint. His bed, which had really only been two mattresses stacked on top of each other in the first place, was rotted and smelled like homeless people. In the corner, his boosted tires still sat, flat, rusty, and now worthless. He narrowed his eyes, horrified and confused. All of this couldn't have happened in only one night. So, who had trashed his house? What happened?

He slowly made his way to the bathroom, blinking in surprise as he found the toilet missing and the stink of the sewer coming up from the hole left behind. The bathtub was still there, but a large portion of it was cracked, and the interior had dark red stains. Again, Jason found himself not wanting to investigate. He turned to leave, freezing again as he caught a glimpse of an older teenaged boy standing in the doorway. The boy was tall and lean, with dark hair marred only by a white patch in the front. His pale green eyes looked…haunted.

"Who are you?" Jason asked, heart sinking into his boots as the teenager's lips moved at the same time as his. It was his reflection. The bathroom door had shut by itself, revealing the cracked mirror mounted on the back. But…it couldn't be him. He had just turned thirteen…was it yesterday? How could he look like he should be in college? He looked ten years older than he should! Yesterday, he-

Yesterday.

Everything seemed to be focused around yesterday. Jason pushed the door open and walked out of the bathroom, before wondering if his secret stash of cash was still around here. He hoped so. He needed help, needed someone to explain what was going on. He returned to his room and pushed the mattresses aside, revealing old and slightly damp wooded boards. Jason counted thirteen boards from the wall and pushed down on one end until the opposite board lifted up. He stuck his fingers under the raised board, and with a practiced motion, flipped it up and lifted it out of the floor completely. Normally Jason struggled to lift it up, but apparently, since he was now almost a grown ass man, he was strong enough to lift it with no trouble.

He carefully pulled the seemingly untouched metal lunchbox from the space under the floorboard, noticing the image of what had once been the Flash fighting some generic villain was now rusted away, leaving behind a few bits of red and yellow amongst the rust. It was easy to bust the lock on it, since he didn't have the pencil he usually used to lift the hinges from the other side. He had forgotten the code to open it before his parents had died.

He was relieved to find all $122.50 still there, and still dry. The one-hundred dollar bill, his prized possession, was still crisp and new. The five dollar bills and a few ones were still crinkled and old, but hey, money was money, right?

Jason paused as he saw something else in the bottom of the lunchbox. A very small handgun his mom had owned _(before she overd-) _before she died in the car crash. It was almost ridiculous how small it was…and the frame was pink. The gun itself was called 'the Pink Lady'. It was a chick's gun…but it could kill a man if necessary. He didn't like the feel of it and didn't understand why. If he had to defend himself, it would be good to have, right?

_(too small, too weak, not enough rounds to do any real damage, I want MY-)_

He shook his head and stuck the gun in his jeans pocket, just in case.

"Okaaay." he started, sitting back as he put the now empty lunchbox back in place and began doing a mental recap. "Cash…check. Weapon…check. Plan…? Ugh…no idea." Jason thought hard. Who could he call for help? None of his friends, that's for sure. If he truly had advanced ten years in age, most of his friends were probably either long gone or dead. Who did that leave…?

No one.

"C'mon, Todd…get it together. Don't freak out, you'll think of something…you always do…"

His ears perked up as he heard a small creak from the living room. In an instant, he had bolted to his feet, the tiny gun drawn. Taking a silent breath and cocking it as quietly as he could, he ducked into the living room, the weapon extended in a firm grip that was only slightly shaking.

"Who are you?" Jason demanded with much more bravado than he actually felt. Standing in the run-down living room were two tall men in dark suits. They both had sunglasses on, even in the shade of the house, and both looked menacing. _'They look like FBI agents, or Men in Black or something!'_ the teen thought, resisting the urge to freak out.

The taller of the two, who had a shaved head and dark skin, turned to him with hands extended in a gesture of peace. "Easy…put the gun down, Jason. We don't want to hurt you."

"How the hell do you know my name?" Jason choked out. The man's plan to calm him down was backfiring, as he felt his pulse rate jump and his hands shook more. He didn't lower the gun an inch. Pink or not, it could save his life here. His eyes darted around the room for the quickest escape route…there! Into the kitchen, out the broken window. He'd have a clear shot towards the busiest part of Crime Alley, where he could hopefully lose these creeps. He didn't trust them for a minute; how could he, when everything his father had taught him was to avoid cops, people who worked for the government, and the like? Willis Todd had always referred to them as the pigs, the blue bloods, the _"-dirty, selfish sonuva bitches who try ta put a hardworking man outta work."_

He turned his attention back to the men. Now the other one was talking. "-hired to find you by your aunt. Did you ever meet your mother's sister? Her name is Talia, and she'd like you to come stay with her for a bit. Your mother and your aunt were very close growing up, but they lost touch after you were born."

Jason narrowed his eyes behind the gun, before speaking in a cold voice. "Huh. That's funny, my mom was always going on about how lucky I was to be an only child, just like her. My _father _was the one with siblings. Do your research better next time!" As the men had time to process this, Jason let one of his five precious bullets fly towards the men. Despite his quivering hands and sloppy aim, he managed to nick the shorter man's shoulder by some total miracle. Then, he quickly ducked into the kitchen and leapt through the window, hitting the ground hard. He took no time to rest, but darted off as fast as his legs could carry him. Too soon for comfort, he could hear pounding footsteps behind him.

After five minutes of solid sprinting, the footsteps began to slow. True, Jason had the body of an almost-adult, but he had the physical stamina of a thirteen-year-old, and that was his advantage. Still, they didn't fade completely, and when he looked back, he could see two black-suited figures following from a distance of about half a block. He began to pant; he was beginning to slow down…too tired to run anymore.

He was so busy watching his followers, he didn't even notice he had run into street until a car slammed on its brakes mere inches from hitting him. Jason screeched to a halt as he saw the insignia on the hood for Gotham City Police Department.

"Hey, man, watch where you're going!" the cop behind the wheel yelled. Quickly, Jason rushed to the nearest window. All his instincts were telling him the police couldn't be trusted, they were dirty, corrupt, liars and cheaters, but he needed help and maybe this one would take pity on him. And if not…? He could spare a few bucks as a bribe, he just hoped the man would take it.

"Y-you're a cop, right? Cops are supposed to help people, so help me get away from those creeps who're chasing me!" he said quickly, seeing said creeps getting closer and closer. They sped up, faces angry.

The cop stared at him in disbelief.

Okay, time for Plan B.

"L-Look, I got cash!" he stumbled over his words, tugging a few bills from his pocket. "These guys broke into my house, they tried to kidnap me- what, it's not enough? Fine, I'll give you my hundred, just stop staring at me like that and start driving!" Jason looked up and saw the men about one-hundred yards away.

"…Jason, what did you _do?" _the cop asked, throwing the passenger door open. Said teenager quickly jumped in and slammed the door shut. The cop stomped on the gas pedal and they rocketed away, just past the men as they finally caught up to their target. One nursed his still-bleeding shoulder, while the other immediately whipped out a cell phone.

He turned around and breathed a sigh of relief, before realizing his new predicament wasn't much better. In a cop car headed to…where? He didn't know. Not to mention this cop apparently knew his name, which was also freaky. Oh, God, what if everyone's in on it? No wonder his dad hated the fuzz!

"Jason, what's going on? Why were Talia's guys trying to kidnap you?" the cop asked. Jason looked around, suddenly suspicious. What if this was a setup? What if this Talia person had set the whole thing up so that if he didn't go with Tweedledum and Tweedledumber he'd run right into a trap? He turned back to the cop somewhat dubiously.

"Look, pal, I don't know, okay? I don't know why they were after me, or how they knew where I lived, or how you know my name, I just-" Jason was cut off as the cop spoke up incredulously.

"What do you mean, 'you don't know how I know your name'? You're joking, right? Come on, Jays, not now." the cop interjected, arching an eyebrow in his direction.

"Um…" Jason began hesitantly, glancing away. Those dark blue eyes were waaay too intense for him. Seriously, this guy must be wearing colored contacts or something.

"…wow, you're _not_ joking. Hoo, boy. Okay, then, if someone screwed around with your memory, I'll need to know how much you remember...answer me this: how old are you? " the cop asked, throwing him a sidelong look as he focused on driving. They appeared to be heading towards the nicer part of Gotham, out of Crime Alley.

"My thirteenth birthday was yesterday, I thi-"

The car swerved violently before righting again. The cop turned to him with a disbelieving expression. _"Th-thirteen? _Okay, that scratches Ivy off the list as a potential atta-wait just a minute. You're trying to pull one over on me, right, Jays? You're just messing around, aren't you? You dickhead."

There was a long silence. The cop appeared to be waiting for something.

"Oh dear God, you didn't even make a penis joke about my name! Come on, I set myself up for that, that was perfect! Something _is_ wrong with you, Jays!" the cop screeched. Jason turned to him with a frustrated expression.

"Stop calling me that! Come on, I'm not five. My name is Jason! And who decided you could be all chummy with me? I paid you off, didn't I? I don't owe you anything else, so don't get your hopes up, sicko." he hissed murderously, crossing his arms and turning away. The cop was silent, eyes downcast as he returned to driving. They sat there in silence for a good ten minutes before curiosity overcame the younger of the two.

"Where are we going?" Jason asked.

"Duh, where do you think? The Batcave." the cop replied as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jason paled, eyes widening. Holy mother of God, this guy worked for Batman, which meant he knew that Jason had been in that apartment! Bats must want that leather jacket back! But Jason didn't have it anymore…oh, no, it was probably expensive! Maybe it wasn't about the jacket, maybe when he cleaned up that blood he had ruined a crime scene or something? Were those guys back there sent by Batman to make him pay for that? Maybe his father had done something to piss off the Batman before his accident? But why had it taken him so long to find Jason to take his revenge? Talia probably worked with Batman! Or maybe Talia just sucked at finding people! Or…Talia was actually Batman? Not the most masculine name he'd ever heard, but all things considering…

The cop noticed Jason's reaction and frowned. "Hey? You okay, Jays?"

"I-I think I'm gonna be sick…" he choked out, leaning forward to hide the motion of him unbuckling his seatbelt.

The car slowly coasted to a stop, pulling to the side of the road as the cop began to talk faster. "Whoa, whoa, calm down! Don't puke in the cruiser! Do you think Talia's guys dosed you with someth-oof!"

Jason shut him up with a solid punch to the jaw, slipping out of the car and running like his life depended on it. When he didn't hear the cop's tires squealing, he paused. Did he give up?

He turned around and saw the cop slumped over the steering wheel, unmoving.

'_Oh my God I killed a cop! Batman's gonna DESTROY me! He hates people who kill other people! HOLY CRAP, WHAT DO I DO?' _he thought frantically, before, against his better judgment, returning to the car. He carefully opened the driver's door and shifted the cop so he was sitting up. A tiny trickle of blood ran down the man's chin from his mouth, and his eyes were closed. The teenager reached into the man's front shirt pocket and withdrew the cop's badge, an identification card on the back. Maybe it would have a number or something to call in case of randomly finding a cop dead in a car.

The photo showed the same cop, if not a bit younger. His eyes were still that really dark, yet bright blue color in the picture. Freaky. The name under the picture gave him a sudden, stabbing headache for reasons he couldn't explain.

_Richard Grayson, GCPD._

He blinked, wondering why that name sounded so familiar. Did one of his mother's male friends have that name? He couldn't remember.

_("Shorts riding up?" _

"..._told me about you. Found you at a cir..."_

"_And...ere'd he find you? ...der a cabbage leaf?")_ **(1)**

The sudden feeling that he was missing something intensified, but he ignored it as he returned the badge to the man's pocket.

Jason then abruptly decided the best course of action was to poke him to see if he was really dead or just faking it.

So he did.

No reaction.

He did it again, slightly harder, and in the stomach. The cop gave a small groan, but didn't wake up. Jason allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief; at least he wasn't a murderer. His eyes caught on a green bill that had ended up on the dashboard…hell, it was his anyway. He snatched his hundred back and replaced it with two five dollar bills. Only then did he shut the door and go back to walking.

Now, thanks to almost killing a cop, he had an idea, and he would need to hang onto his money. That envelope at that apartment had been in the back of his mind all day, and now it came forward again. The weird part about it, was the message almost reminded him of his father's small, scratchy handwriting. Surely, that note had something on it that could help him. The writing was too blurred to read, but that phone number was a little easier to read. Easy to remember, as well. All twos.

* * *

He was careful to duck into side streets and in general avoid the road where he had left the cop. Weren't cops trained to wake up quickly from that kind of stuff? He didn't want to be found, because he was sure the cop wouldn't be so nice the next time. It wasn't Jason's fault; he just needed to do what he had to so that he could survive. That's what his dad had always said. _"Kid, in Gotham, it's survival of the fitte-"_

("_Always bring your utility belt.")_

He blinked, shaking his head, before finally approaching the object he had been searching for during the better part of the past four hours. A pay phone. He had to squint to read the buttons, as it was getting dark, but it was simple to punch in the number. "222-222-2222." he spoke aloud, before putting the phone to his ear.

It rang twice before picking up. _"Who is this?" _a gruff voice demanded.

Jason bit his lip. It wasn't too late to back out…but, no. He had to find answers, and his only clues were Batman and whoever was on the other end of this call. He picked the least scary of the two options and began to speak.

"Er…my name is Jason. I found this number-"

"_-and you decided to call it for kicks, huh, funny guy? Yeah, well, unless you want your own pair of concrete shoes, I'd hang up now, brat! How old are you, anyway? You sound like a damn pansy!"_

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Er…Twenty-two. Who wants to know?" he demanded, guessing his current physical age roughly.

The voice paused, but ignored his question. _"Twenty-two, huh…are you smart, kid? You know any self defense? How to shoot a gun?"_

Jason arched an eyebrow. What kind of questions were those? "Uh, I guess so? I shot a guy today, actually…these two guys tried to-"

"_Shaddup kid, I don't need your whole life story. What's your full name, brat?"_

"…Jason Todd. Seriously, who is th-"

"_Well, there's the two d's to work with, but not much el-wait, you said Todd? Like, as in 'William...no, it was Willis- Willis Todd'?" _the voice questioned, sounding less threatening and more intrigued.

"Er, yeah…he was my father. But, what's your na-" Jason once again tried to ask, unsure why his father mattered to the man on the other end of the phone.

"_So, that'd make you the second Todd I've employed, right? I can work with that. Twenty-two years old, second Todd, last name's got twin d's in it…alright, kid, you're in. We've got a gig going down tonight at the Lucky Dollar Casino, so be there in three hours. One of my boys'll give you a new pair of handguns, and as long as you do your part and don't muck it up, you'll get a cut of the profits and you won't end up the second Todd that Two-Face has killed, capiche?"_

With that, the phone went dead.

Jason blinked, surprised. Two-Face…he was that crazy guy with half a face who had an obsession with the number two, right? Jason scoffed. Should have figured that out by the phone number. Still, when he decided to call the number, he hadn't planned on acquiring a job. Two-Face was one weird guy. The 'gig' going down at the casino sounded anything but legal, but with Batman after him and a cop unconscious by his hand, he wasn't doing too hot with the whole 'law abiding citizen' thing.

And what exactly did Two-Face mean by that 'second Todd I've killed' comment? That was what was bothering Jason the most. His parents had died in a car accident. Jason _knew_ that. So unless he somehow planned out the car wreck, Two-Face must've been lying.

So, then why did he get the feeling that Two-Face was the one telling the truth and he himself was the one being dishonest?

There was only one way to find out…so he began walking in the direction of the large, flashing neon signs, looking for the casino that would hopefully make things easer to understand. He was getting _really_ sick of playing World's Greatest Detective just to find out what was going on. It seemed like the whole world had gone to hell overnight and he had missed the boat. So, now, he was on a quest for answers.

And he'd get them, one way or another.

* * *

**(1) Taken from Nightwing Year One, #105, AKA Dick and Jason's first official meeting.**

DJG: Dun duh DUN! And so the plot thickens…

Muse: Jason's now encountered Dick and spoken to Two-Face, as well as a few of Talia's goons.

DJG: The next chapter will focus more on what everyone else is doing while this is going on, with an appearance (finally!) from our favorite flying rodent himself.

Muse: So read and review!


	3. Revelations And Lies

DJG: …Have mercy on a poor writer's soul, as I was afflicted with a terrible disease known as writer's block! Luckily, I've spent a few days reading all of my favorite Jason Todd/Batman comics, such as Red Hood and the Outlaws, Lost Days, and Batman Annual #25, so I'm on the way to recovery! Huzzah! I also went to camp for a week and came up with several new ideas for various stories that I'd like to get to writing eventually. I'll put up a poll on my profile for anyone who cares enough to help me choose which one. ^^ Also, apologies for this chapter being a semi-filler. But, there's this thing called the plot… It needed a bit of development. :D

* * *

Tim and Damian sat under the bridge, hidden from view, for the remainder of the trip. As soon as the field trip had been declared over a good two hours later, Bruce had arrived, showing up with a note for Tim and Damian's teachers to inform them that they wouldn't need to ride the bus home. Once the area was clear from other witnesses, he instructed the two boys to take him to the site they had found all of the pieces of the Red Hood outfit.

He didn't like what he found.

"…"

Bruce said nothing as he narrowed his eyes at the muddy helmet, holding it at eye level as he stared at it. After a second of inspecting it, he moved on to the next piece, one boot. Then, the leather jacket.

"Tim, Damian, I believe you two have…_homework. _We'll return to the Manor, and get a few 'friends' of ours to keep up the excavation. Do you understand?" he asked.

They both nodded, before following him obediently to the car. They understood perfectly. Obviously, one of Gotham's major playboy billionaires couldn't be seen out with his kids digging up pieces of a well-known criminal vigilante's outfit, the Red Hood. They'd have to go back to the Manor and put on disguises, probably of Matches Malone and two street kids. Less questionable that way.

The ride to the Manor was taken in silence, with Tim observing silently while Damian glared out the window, various theories as to why the Red Hood would dump most of his earthly possessions into Gotham's dirtiest river. It just didn't make sense.

Bruce, meanwhile, brooded. He knew Jason wouldn't, _couldn't _give up his identity that easily. If he ever did quit being the Red Hood…what else did he have? Nothing. No education, no real skills other than his training, and no family to provide moral support, not really. Sure, Bruce sometimes wished Jason would come home, but he knew it wouldn't be the same. Jason had changed, and he wasn't that scrappy little fourteen-year-old with something to prove anymore.

So, why would Jason throw the _only_ thing he had left away?

It was doubtful that he had been killed. Not only was Jason a force to be reckoned with, but anyone powerful enough to take him down wouldn't have hidden their success. They would've shown off, or done something overly dramatic to display the body.

It made no sense.

Speaking of a body…why wasn't there one? Unless it was deeper down, that was always a possibility… Bruce honestly didn't know what his reaction would be if he found Jason's corpse buried in the muck and the mud. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. If it did…he found himself planning a cremation. It wasn't that he didn't want Jason to come back to life again…he didn't want him to come back to life six feet under. Bruce could only imagine the psychological trauma Jason would have from digging himself out of his grave _twice._

As soon as they pulled up to the Manor, Damian and Tim both quickly made their way to their rooms to get into their disguises. Bruce, however, sat in the car and brooded some more.

Could Jason be planning something? This could maybe be a trap? He had already checked the Red Hood helmet at the crime scene, and there _was_ a bomb hidden inside of it like before, but it was disconnected and couldn't detonate. Maybe it was a set-up? To discredit Batman over the 'murder' of the Red Hood? Crime lord or not, the police would never fully trust him again if they thought he was a killer of anyone, no matter how bad that person was.

It just didn't add up.

And he was the World's Greatest Detective. It was his _job _to find the answers in situations like this. Yet here he was, drawing a blank.

Maybe he could check the surveillance footage and traffic cams outside of a few places the Red Hood frequented. Surely his hideout must be nearby the areas he spent the most time, unless he was purposely making appearances in other places to throw Bruce off his trail. He wouldn't put it past him; rebellious as he was, Jason was good.

Bruce finally exited the car, making his way past Alfred and the boys, who was complimenting them on their disguises, and up to his room. Inside one of the closets was a large walk-in vault, where he stored most of his own costumes. He slipped into the character of Matches Malone, breaking off a matchstick from a book of them and sticking it in between his lips.

Before they left, he wanted to check the Batcomputer and see if there were any clues that could explain Jason's strange behavior. This was…unusual, even for him. He slipped down the stairs silently, Tim and Damian trailing behind him. He could sense their confusion, but, as per usual, decided not to elaborate. They'd figure it out in a moment anyway.

He typed in a few vague commands, before a few windows popped up. On one, footage of a man in a red ski mask, dated yesterday evening. The man threatens some prostitutes and appears to be posing as the Red Hood. Bullet hole in the imposter's shoulder. The real Red Hood makes his first appearance of the night. And then violently reminds the man why he should pick someone else to impersonate from now on. The fake runs away. Red Hood wins. He is then shamelessly hit on by the prostitutes. _That's_ classy.

Another video. The Red Hood cautiously approaches an abandoned building at roughly 4:00 am that same night, a few minutes after the previous clip had taken place. He sets down his helmet by a support beam and walks forward, keys in his hand. Well, if nothing else, at least Bruce had located his hideout.

A man appears behind Jason as he goes to open the door and he lashes out, catching the mystery man in the face with the keys. The man speaks, but it was too far away to read his lips, and even when the video was zoomed in, the footage was still too blurry. Jason suddenly runs inside the building, slamming the door. Bruce could hear the lock turn. The man seems to disappear. A meta, maybe?

From inside, there was a faintly muffled 'thump', and then silence. A few minutes later, the man reappears, two large duffel bags thrown over his shoulders. Jason doesn't follow him out. Perhaps the man had stolen weapons from him? The mysterious figure paused, before scooping up the Red Hood helmet that had been left outside and stuffing it into one of the very full bags.

Damian scowled. "Tt. So, Todd's not such a hotshot after all. If it's so easy to rob him, he-"

Bruce interrupted him. "Shh. Watch." he instructed. If Damian wasn't corrected, he'd never learn. The youngest Robin gave a small 'hmph!' and turned away, arms crossed. He still watched out of the corner of his eye, however.

Bruce flipped between traffic cameras, following the man as he walked through Gotham…towards the river they had found all of Jason's stuff dumped in. The cameras stopped before they could actually see him commit the deed because of there being no street lights or traffic signals down by the river, but Bruce was fairly certain this man was the culprit. He tabbed forward a few hours, to the next morning. He then moved the window to highlight Jason's hideout, staring intently until he spotted movement. A flash of white in the kitchen window that he guessed was paper of some sort being blown by the breeze. A yell of annoyance…then one of fear.

In the next video clip, Jason was spotted leaving the abandoned building, but his body language had changed dramatically. Instead of the cool, confident stride he normally had…he appeared unsure, nervous, and confused. He was wearing a leather jacket that they'd seen him in before, as well as a simple shirt, jeans, and boots. The strange thing was…it almost looked like he thought he was being followed.

Jason stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. He stared at tit intently for a moment, before gaining an expression Bruce had seen numerous times in shock victims, or amnesiacs at Leslie's clinic. The expression vanished as Jason shrugged off the jacket and threw it down a drain, walking away quickly.

Suddenly, his personal cell-phone rang. Only a select few people had that number, so he answered it.

"_Bruce…? It's Dick. You're never going to believe what just happened."_

Bruce pursed his lips. "Jason has amnesia." he stated.

A pause. _"Okay, then I guess you will believe this. A few hours ago, Jason flagged me down in my cruiser. He was being chased by two of Talia's men. I drove away, and he started talking weird…he didn't know who I was and was trying to bribe me to take him far away from the men. He didn't know me at all. He freaked out when he found out I knew his name, and then…um…" _Dick trailed off.

Bruce sighed. "What happened?"

"_I told him I was bringing him to the Cave, and…er…he pretended to be sick, and then punched me. He had some damn good strength for thinking he was only thirteen, because he knocked me out. When I woke up, he was gone."_

Bruce arched an eyebrow. "Thirteen?"

"_Yeah, whoever did this really wanted to make sure he didn't remember you. Unless it wasn't someone else…you've heard the stories about people blocking out bad experiences completely. It might have been Jay's doing." _Dick suggested.

The older man frowned, eyes narrowing as he Batglared at nothing. "It was someone else. I found surveillance footage of a man entering Jason's apartment. He left with all of Jason's personal belongings, anything that could connect him to me, and dumped them in the Gotham river."

"_Wow…but that doesn't explain why it was Jason he targeted. If it was Talia's way of trying to hurt you, why not make…wow this sounds conceited, but…why not make me, or Tim, or Damian forget you instead? Why Jason? You barely interact with him, and whenever you do, it never ends well for either of you." _Dick pointed out.

Bruce shook his head, even though his eldest couldn't see it. "It wasn't about hurting me. It was about helping Jason."

"…_wait, what?"_

"Talia seems to care for him...after all, she raised him for the better part of two years. This might be her way to try and help him get rid of his issues."

"_-by completely erasing everything? EVERYTHING? Talia's not stupid, and neither is Jason. She _knows_ Jason would figure out something was wrong. You don't just forget six years of your life! He's mentally _thirteen years old_, someone needs to find him and explain what's going on-" _Dick protested.

Bruce internally weighed his options. Should he really say what he was about to? Yes, it needed to be said. It was the right decision. "Dick, no."

"..._What? I…I must've heard you wrong, because I know you didn't just say-"_

"You need to stop looking for him. It's…better this way. He'll be safer and happier not knowing." Bruce sighed. Honestly, this was the only possible outcome that wouldn't result in Jason being thrown in Blackgate or Arkham for the crimes he'd committed.

"_WHAT? YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS, BRUCE! He's stuck with the mentality of a little kid, he's probably scared out of his MIND! His mom was still ALIVE when he was thirteen! He must be so worried about her! And his HOUSE! He wouldn't remember living anywhere else! I've seen it, Bruce, it's falling apart! Thugs use it as a HIDEOUT! What if he goes home and gets attacked or something? I'm going look for him, SOMEONE has to! I still can't believe-" _Dick's yelling was loud enough Tim and Damian could hear over to where they were standing.

Bruce hit the 'end' button, sliding his cell phone into his pocket before turning to his other two sons.

"Are you two ready?" he asked in a low voice that suggested they had better be.

Tim nodded, looking thoughtful, while Damian gave his signature 'Tt.' as a response.

"Good." he practically growled, ushering them to one of the less conspicuous cars he owned, climbing in and racing out of the Cave faster than strictly necessary.

* * *

As they were driving through Crime Alley, heading towards the river, Tim let out a cry of frustration.

"I…left the shovels in the Cave…"

Bruce turned his head towards him, arching an eyebrow. Tim wasn't one to forget things…still, he probably had a lot on his mind, worrying about a person loose in Gotham who could make you forget anything and everything. "We can go back."

Tim shook his head, ignoring the incredulous look Damian was shooting him from the backseat. "No, that's okay…let me off here and I'll call Alfred and have him bring them. He can drop me off at the river so that you guys can make sure no one else has found Hood's stuff yet."

Bruce sighed, but pulled over so Tim could get out. "Be careful. You may look like you belong in Crime Alley, but-"

Tim grimaced. "Yeah, I know, I'm still a target. I'll be fine." he said, shutting the door. He pulled out his cell phone just for effect, snapping it shut, unused, once Bruce drove away and was out of sight. He then walked towards a building he had driven past many times, but had never been inside except for when he and Batman had taken down a group of Two-Face's lackeys who were hiding out there.

Jason's old house.

Why was he even bothering? Plain and simple, he had always admired Jason as a child. Jason was _Robin_. He had been one of his childhood _heroes_, second only to Batman himself and Nightwing, of course. If Jason truly didn't remember being mad at Batman...was it possible he'd act similar to the way he had as Robin? Tim had to find out.

He finally found the right house, mostly by accident. It was now almost completely dark outside, and without a solid idea of where he was going, he wasn't sure what to expect. Luckily, he happened to notice a small light coming from inside and a very faint voice. As he silently approached, he could make out words.

"Okay…the casino's got two guys who collect the money…they make their rounds at midnight…they can't fire into the crowd, so I've got to keep the civilians behind me or I'm toast…two armored trucks…two of our guys'll be in the second truck…damn, this is predictable as hell. I bet he's going to rob the joint twice, ain't he? Friggin' fruitcake…"

It was Jason's voice, and it sounded like he was writing this down, using the old flashlight in his hand as a light source. Was he planning a robbery? It sure sounded like it. At a casino. The only casino that had their men collect the money while patrons were still there was the Lucky Dollar Casino. But this fascination with twos…

Was Jason working for Two-Face? How did _that _happen? Jason and Bruce got into a massive fight because Bruce didn't tell Jason that Two-Face murdered his father. Jason didn't hate any Gotham villain, minus the Joker, more than he hated Harvey Dent.

'He might have been conned into it,' Tim reasoned, 'after all, he can't remember anything past age thirteen. He could have been scared into doing it against his will. Or maybe he's just rotten to the core, and no memory loss can change that...but, I don't think that's true!'

With that in mind, he tapped on the broken window, alerting Jason to his presence, before carefully avoiding the glass and hopping inside. The physically older boy looked up, temporarily alarmed, before calming at the sight of another Crime Alley kid.

"Sorry. I don't got any money or food to spare, pal." Jason said, watching him with no recognition in his eyes.

Tim frowned. "That's not why I'm here, Jason."

The ex-Robin visibly paled, backing away quickly. "Oh, hell…do you work for Talia? Tell her, or him, to leave me alone! I'm not going with you!"

Tim backpedaled. "No, no! Calm down, I don't work for Talia. I don't even like her! My name is Tim. I'm Red Robin."

An awkward pause.

"Is that some kind of play on Robin? Like, Batman's Robin? I've never heard of you." Jason said suspiciously, his hand snaking behind him. Tim then ducked as a bullet appeared in the dry way three feet from his head. He probably didn't even have to move to avoid it, which was unusual. Wasn't Jason a great shot? But, then again, he didn't remember how to use firearms like he used to, something that probably save Tim's life.

"Whoa! Calm down, Jason, I'm here to help you!"

"I don't _need _your help! I don't even know you!" the older boy protested, still holding the weapon. Tim normally would have laughed at the fact Jason was using a pink gun if it wasn't currently pointed at him.

Tim gritted his teeth, before gently pulling off the light-haired wig. "Jason, if you really believe that, look me in the eye and tell me you don't know me!"

A pause. Frantic, nervous green eyes locked with his steely blue, narrowing in definite confusion and...possible familiarity for a second.

"I-I…I've never met you before-"

"Yes, you have. Remember? You even tried to kill me a few times. You know that big scar on your throat? You gave me a matching one, see?" Tim said, pulling down the neckline of his shirt just enough for Jason to see it.

Jason's eyes looked away, almost looking…ashamed? Embarrassed?

"…Fine. Fine! You say you're here to help me, so tell me why I can't remember anything! Yesterday I turned thirteen, and now…years have passed! My parents died in a car crash, so I'm alone! I had my friends before, but they're all dead or missing now! _What the hell happened to me?"_

Before Tim could answer, his phone suddenly rang loudly. He glanced at it nervously, seeing Bruce's name on the screen. He had to answer.

"…Hello?"

"_You said you were going to call Alfred." _Bruce's voice was accusing and almost sounded hurt.

"I-I…"

"_Instead, you went after Jason, didn't you?"_

"Bruce, we can't just abandon him again! He needs our help, now, more than ever!" Tim responded.

"_I gave you an order. You were expected to follow it." _Bruce had slipped into the Batvoice without even noticing.

"I _won't_ argue with you on this. Dick's right, we have to explain this to him! He's horrified, he thinks his parents died in a _car accident! _He has a right to know the truth!" Tim shifted, his eyes flicking out the window of the trashed house.

"_Tim, leave. Right now. We don't have the _right _to be in his life anymore. We've ruined it enough already. Whatever you told him, tell him to forget about it, and leave."_

Tim changed the subject. "What'd you and Damian find down at the river?"

A pause. Bruce clearly knew what Tim was trying to do, yet he humored him. _"Nothing. The hole's been filled in, and no matter how deep we dug, everything's gone. We spotted Talia's men leaving, however. They removed any evidence we could have possibly found."_

Tim let out a mental curse. "Now what?" He didn't want to explain the casino situation to Bruce over the phone, plus if Jason knew he knew…he might tip off his boss, and then they wouldn't be able to catch Two-Face right in the middle of it.

"_Like I said. Leave. You're probably scaring him more than his amnesia, just showing up at his house with no warning. We're almost there now, and I _will _knock you out if I have to. There's plenty of chloroform in the trunk to keep up the Matches appearance, I can afford to spare a little."_

Tim winced. "Bruce, just…listen to me! He wouldn't want this! Here, let Jason talk to you, he can tell you himself!" He turned to hand the phone over, only to find himself facing an empty room.

"_Damn, now I know what Gordon feels like…"_

* * *

DJG: Uh…normally I'm supposed to have something snappy or witty to talk about at the end of the chapter…buuuut…it's 11:55 pm, I have work tomorrow, and I'm tired and need sleep. So, nighty night, and please review!

Muse: DJG! Where's your good pillow? This one sucks and smells like cheap shampoo!

DJG: Use the Accio charm and leave me aloooone! *buries face in pillow and promptly falls asleep*


End file.
